


Not For The First Time

by CaariOsamu



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 14:06:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5208662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaariOsamu/pseuds/CaariOsamu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows he shouldn't do this.  He knows he should walk away from those warm eyes, far from her adoring gaze.  He knows he shouldn't take her hand in his, so warm as she envelopes his bony fingers, slipping between them as she manages to time again slip into his heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not For The First Time

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired greatly by this [photo set](http://ryumeii.tumblr.com/post/133179649640/bonus-why-are-you-crying-its-all-just-going-to)

He knows he shouldn't do this. He knows he should walk away from those warm eyes, far from her adoring gaze. He knows he shouldn't take her hand in his, so warm as she envelopes his bony fingers, slipping between them as she manages to time again slip into his heart.

Sans knows he shouldn't fall in love with Toriel, but damn it, was it hard to resist the urge to take that running leap.

And don't get him wrong, oh no, he's tried. Sometimes, he can tear his eyes from hers and shake her hand loose. It's so much easier to slink back into the quiet of the snow, unfeeling and cold, an embrace far more intimately familiar to him than any other. It's as welcoming as any lover, and he much prefers the distant ache of isolation to the glorious suffering of being in love.

There is something beautiful and torturous, though, when Toriel cracks a smile, regal voice lifted to the sky in glorious laughter. Papyrus never laughed quite the same way, even when he told a joke he particularly liked, and that was fine. It was her laughter that drove him into hours long shows of humor and mirth, regaling her with the crudest of puns and the most sophisticated of witty tales. A queen who casts aside her crown for just a moment to be as any common woman, losing herself in the moment and letting the grace fall away where no judging eyes can see her.

It's been so long since she's laughed like that, she says.

Only for him, he infers, holding that treasure close to his chest.

No, no, no, this is all wrong. He cannot do this again. He should not. But Toriel's hand is in his, and her eyes are on him and oh, he cannot look away. She chuckles low in her throat, something sort of shy in the sound, and she leans in, and he leans in, and he is taking that running leap again.

Maybe, he thinks for not the first time, this will work out. Maybe this is The True Ending to their tale. The seasoned skeptic in him tells him that the anomalies aren't simply going to go away with a little wishful thinking. This happiness is as fragile as it has ever been, and yet when he looks at her, he thinks--he hopes--that maybe a little wishful thinking will go a long way.

"The Echo Flowers are especially beautiful today," she says. She has said this before, but as far as she knows, this is the first time she has ever said these words. Sans likes the way the word 'beautiful' sounds on her lips. It suits them perfectly.

"Yeah," he says, not for the first time. "They're not the only things looking especially beautiful today."

Ahh, yes, there is that laugh again.

_"Sa-ans!"_ she says, a scold interrupted by a hiccup of laughter. Red, he thinks, is a color that she wears well, even though she tries to hide it behind one bashful paw. "You do know what to say to make this old lady smile, do you not?"

Of course he does. He used that line the fifth time they played out this scene and has used nothing else since. She does not need to know that, of course, but that does not stop him from using it. He winks at her and she giggles once more, a chorus of soft giggles rising from the luminescent flowers surrounding them. Boy, if one Toriel sounded like an angel...

"This must be what heaven sounds like."

Then why didn't this feel like heaven? Why did it feel like he was one step from falling straight down into hell? An anxious feeling dwelling between his ribs, right where his stomach would be if he had one, one that her beautiful face and voice only seem to make worse.

An echo passes down the line, soft and distant as the murmurings they reflect. Frisk has reached the CORE. He can see the joy slip, just so, from Toriel's shining face and he cannot help the flop his metaphorical heart takes within his own core. It was an ugliness he did not like about himself, a certain jealousy he knows he ought not feel.

If the news comes down as it always does-- _THE KING IS DEAD; LONG LIVE THE KING_ \--Toriel will cry, and it is the ugliest he has ever felt, knowing just that little part of her heart still holds onto what was. It is transitory, here one moment and gone the next, but oh, does it leave such a putrid taste on his tongue.

Worse, still, comes the wait after. Will this be the one? Or will they start all over again? It was almost inevitable, he felt, but sometimes, they were allowed just a few more hours, a few days, a few weeks to enjoy this beautiful thing they had. It seemed each reset was further off and fewer between.

He doesn't know what the kid is looking for, but damn it, he hopes they find it soon. He wants this to be the one... It has to be. It must! He's already fallen so far, so many times. How could he stand doing this again?

He knows he shouldn't have. He shouldn't have fallen for those baleful eyes, the touch of her hand. He shouldn't have become punch-drunk on her laughter, and he damn well should never have kissed her. But he did, and they are standing amidst the glowing, flowing waterfalls, and there is a pounding in his chest he isn't quite sure won't kill him.

The silence is too thick, even for the trickling of the water, and he thinks to himself, if this is going to be goodbye, then he's going to make it a damn good one.

Maybe, just maybe, it will be one to remember.

As the flowers begin to murmur once more, Sans takes Toriel's hand, ripping her attention away from the echoed rumor mill. She is shaking (or perhaps that is him?) and he pulls her away from the line of flowers to another patch, farther away from the nails in their coffin.

"I'm not much of a singer," he says, trying to choke the quivers down. Don't let her hear that you are afraid, too. Be strong. Be determined. "But I can hum a mean tune."

"W-what?" she stammers, blinking those big eyes down at him, her mind speeding to catch up from a hundred miles away.

"What I'm saying is, may I have this dance, Tori?" He beams up at her, full of hope for the very first time. Her confusion is replaced with curiosity and delight, and though the giggle on her breath is nervous, it is still beautiful and joyous.

"I would be delighted, Sans," she says, moving into position with her hand on his shoulder far below and his hand on her waist high above. He tries to remember the two or three times they went dancing before, many lives ago, and he finds a particular tune in his repertoire he know she enjoys.

And he begins to hum. It is soft at first, stumbling over a few notes as the memory rises from the ashes of the many lives he has led, and then it grows, louder and more confident and filled with determination. This will be the one, he is sure. This will be remembered, he just knows it.

Their movements are shuffled and awkward to start, the height difference new to Toriel and not at all new to Sans, and it takes them a few stepped-on toes to find their rhythm. One good sway becomes another; a gentle rocking step becomes a bold turn, a whip outward and a pull inward that twirls Toriel's skirt around her with a flourish. The flowers take up the song as Sans falls quiet, concentrating so hard on making this moment absolutely memorable.

How radiant she is against the backlight glow of the cavern. How truly splendid, the very vision of everything he could ever need; the very cement that filled the cracks of his broken soul. She dances like it is the first time in her life her heart has ever soared; he dances like it is the very last thing he will ever do.

Like his very life depended on it.

The scuffle of bare feet and rubber soles fill the cavern, witnessed by none but the flowers that sing the song of their fragile love. Her breath is fraught with laughter, fear momentarily forgotten. Sans thinks, in that moment and for not the first time, that this is the most beautiful she has ever been.

Sans thinks, in that moment and not for the first time, that this will be The One. Whether this life continues onward uninterrupted or it is cut short by that fearsome, terrible reset, this moment will be The One that is remembered. Time and space mean nothing compared to now. This is what they have, and he will not be forgotten.

Not again.

He twirls her in place, leading her by the hand as he circles her, each step taking him higher and higher until he is standing at the very precipice of a small rise in the cavern floor. He is taller than her now and, not for the first time, he is looking down into those perfect eyes. His fingers press into the small of her back and he pulls her close as he tips her back, and he kisses her.

_THE KING IS DEAD,_ the flowers whisper as their song fades from within their petals. _LONG LIVE THE KING._

There are tears streaking that glorious, stunned face, and it is a long moment before Sans realizes that, for the first time, it is not Toriel that is crying.

"Sans?" she asks in a soft, worried voice.

"I...I can't do this," he answers in a choked, horrible voice. He holds her there, so close that each of her breaths presses into his ribcage, her pulse drumming distantly against his aching bones. He paws at his dripping eyesockets, collecting all of his worry and pain on his sleeve.

There is an ache that originates from outside of his body, one they can all feel but only he can name. He knows what this means, and he cannot bare to do this. Not again.

"W-what do you mean?" she asks, and oh god, how torturous that little bit of confusion and pain is. He wonders what she thinks in these moments, the rare moments that his facade slips before the world goes black. Does she blame herself for something she did not do? She asks again, the weight of her fear almost cracking that strong voice, "Sans...?"

"Tori, I--" He can feel the world pulling apart at its CORE again, not for the first time and he fears not for the last. She cannot feel it, she does not remember how it feels, and he realizes with no small amount of pain that she never will remember. Not how it feels to be undone and glued back together, not the knowledge of the world being torn asunder by a child with a frightening power, not this... Not any of this.

"Tori, god, I love you so much, but I can't keep doing this to myself."

"W-what ever do you mean, Sans? Are you alright? H-have I done something wrong?"

"No, no, god no," he murmurs, pressing his forehead to hers. He wishes he could dive as easily into those eyes as he did into her heart and bury himself in the brain beyond, never to be forgotten again. "You are perfect, Toriel, an absolute dream come true."

"But...?"

"But I can't keep falling in love with you like this. I can't stand losing you after everything we have shared and built, time and time again. I can't--" he takes in a stuttering breath "--I can't stand being so in love with you only for you to forget who I am over and over again. I want a life with you, Toriel, I want to fall in love with you and you with me, and to stay right where we are and not have to rebuild after someone smashes the puzzle apart."

He chokes on his words, his eyes clenching shut. He cannot stand to look at that beautiful, hurt face any longer. "I don't want to lose you again."

The warmth of her hand touches the back of his skull, a gentle caress offered to ease his pain.

"Sans," she says in that way she always does, so sweet and conversational, he could have sword their world was not about to end. "I may not understand exactly what it is you are feeling, or truly how deep this pain cuts you, and I cannot say I ever will.

"But what I can say is this: the love I hold for you is so strong, I am certain that nothing in this whole world can keep me from you. Not time, nor space, nor even memory. You are never truly gone from my heart. Why else would I keep falling for you?" She coaxes his head back and he opens his eyes, and the smile she is wearing is the smile she has saved just for him--something so pure and heartfelt that he cannot help but feel, not for the first time, that maybe she is right.

It is his turn to laugh, a sound that is not joyful and is full of self pity. He so desparately hopes that she is right. He paws at his eyesockets once more before cupping her warm cheek, still wearing a trace of that lovely, lovely red, and he kisses her once again.

"I love you, Toriel," he says, for not the first time.

"I love you too," she says, for the last time before the world is torn apart.

Sans is sitting on the couch in the living room of his and his brother's house. Papyrus is singing as he stands over the MTT-brand stove, the fire alarm his accompanying choir. The television is blaring noise and assaulting his eyes with light. His sock is unmoved beneath the slightly dusty post-it notes.

He rubs a hand over his face, feeling the weight on his shoulders growing just a bit heavier. He hops off of the couch, a satisfying but painful crack sounding from his back. Pushing his bony feet into his tennis shoes, he calls a quick goodbye to his brother to alert him that he's going on a walk and he'll be back in time for dinner, he promises.

Sans pushes into the snow, a familiar and bitterly cold evening. He is off to attend his first meeting with the sweet woman with the beautiful laugh behind the ancient door, not for the first time, heart bruised but beating, beating, beating.

He shouldn't do this. He knows he should walk away from that large, imposing door and leave the ghosts of lives un-lived lying dormant behind it. Laughs never laughed, warmth never shared, safe from the danger of falling in love on his cloud of cold isolation. He shouldn't do this.

He knocks on the door.

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic in a very long while, and my first posted here! I'm a terrible sucker for angsty love stories, and while listening to "The Ghost of You" for the first time in some years, I was overcome with the urge to write this. A special thank you to my friend Zodiac for getting me into Undertale in the first place!


End file.
